Summer feet, standing on the edge, ready and waiting for adventures and sunshine, baseballs and dodging raindrops, obstacle courses and Popsicles. Summer feet, dirty and grimy, callouses built up from hours spent running back and forth without shoes, without socks, without cares. The slap, slap, slap of feet running across the porch, chasing the dog or a butterfly or a dream. Giggles floating on the breeze, warmed by the evening sun beating down where the tree used to cover us in shade. These feet, these moments, these present tense happenings that quickly become fleeting memories, make up the summer days and lead into the summer nights.
My feet will look the same next year, maybe a little more worn after another half marathon… or two. But theirs? Their summer feet will morph into autumn feet, shoved back inside socks and school shoes and walk them off and up the steps of a school bus which will take them far, far from me. Then comes the transition into winter feet, little piggy toes not seen as they’re covered with thick socks and snow boots or even fuzzy slippers. Come spring, as we dare to stretch our toes out on an almost warm day in the almost-sunshine, their feet will be bigger. Different. Closing in on mine, ready to pass me up and leave me behind.
And so now, I sit and watch their summer feet run, I listen to them slap along, I smell them because boys. As they cuddle into me, telling me about their adventures — the ones I just watched and participated in, the ones that only happened in their minds, the ones in between — I feel their feet as they rub them against my legs, kick each other, as I take them in my hands and tickle them, more laughter pouring from them, from me.
Oh, summer feet.